You Never Change
by bakakxz
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, English teacher of six years, is faced with the bright-eyed Alfred F. Jones, who has been coming into his class falling fast asleep within the first fifteen minutes with bruises and scrapes littering his arms and legs. While Arthur finds himself at a loss for what to do, he also unearths an urge to change himself as a person after a near death experience.


Arthur Kirkland liked to think he was rather pragmatic, if there was a way to think that without sounding as narcissistic as he thought he sounded.

Well, he wasn't being narcissistic, Arthur was quite the humble gentleman, after all. In fact, he only liked to consider himself pragmatic compared to the people around him. Rather than his colleagues, who would willingly allow students to run their mouths and be overall nuisances in the classrooms, Arthur firmly believed in discipline and the concept of raising one's hand in order to grasp the teacher's attention. Not obnoxiously shouting out "Kirkland!" or "Can I use the bathroom?" in the middle of his lesson.

So yes, he might have been considered strict, but it truly was necessary. He preferred a classroom full of teenagers who may have kind of sort of disliked him just a little bit rather than one where he would have barely been able to hear his own thoughts over the talking. Structure was integral after all, it was the first thing he had learned during one of his class observations back in college.

Though he considered things like doling out phone calls, detentions, and trips to the principal's office absolutely integral, it wasn't like he enjoyed it, a fact that may have been a shock for many of his students.

So here he was, on a Wednesday afternoon, grading his latest pop-quiz(because it was so painstakingly obvious no one had been reading Animal Farm. At all. One student put down "Julius Caesar" as a character.) while the latest batch of students-he-caught-falling-asleep-or-skipping-class sat in front of him at their desks in bored silence. School had been over about thirty minutes ago, and there was fifteen minutes to go before Arthur could work in solitude again.

Every so often, he'd glance up at the students to see what they were working at, but more to check if any of them had gone mysteriously missing yet under his watch. He could often get quite absorbed in his work.

Lovino Vargas, check. He was still glaring at him, as he had been doing for the past half hour. Arthur had to admit he was a little impressed, but that feeling was watered down by the fact he had cut his class for the second time that week. Arthur thought the phone call home and detention combo the first time he skipped would be enough to stop him the second time, but apparently that wasn't the case.

Heracles Karpusi, check. Unsurprisingly, the boy was asleep. He was always asleep, and it wasn't like he didn't get enough of it either. It was a hot topic to complain about Heracles constantly sleeping in class in the teacher break room. Arthur never participated in those conversations, as he liked to consider himself above gossip at his age.

Finally, Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, check. Arthur wasn't sure what had gotten into Alfred, he had always been quite a… Well, mediocre student. His grades never suffered too poorly, though Arthur did recognize that he was bright. Perhaps English just wasn't his strong suit, and that was fine. He did wish he would stop talking to the people around him though, since Arthur has had to move him quite a number of times. But that wasn't exactly an issue in of itself, because Alfred liked to participate as often as possible, and Arthur liked that in a student.

No, there was something else that had come to Arthur's attention over the past few days. Alfred had been falling asleep. It was quite bizarre to turn around one day and see Alfred, who seemed to be constantly bursting at the seams with energy, with his face buried deep into his notebook and casually snoring away exactly like Heracles Karpusi.

After getting over his initial shock with a few blinks, Arthur pulled the third sternest tone of voice he could muster out of his arsenal, the one he reserved for sleepers, and boomed "Mr. Jones, head up, please," across the classroom.

Class activity immediately quieted, and the tension of "oh shit, someone just got in _trooouble_" seemed to reverberate all through the room. Every head in Arthur's line of sight swiveled towards Alfred's desk near the door. Who, speaking of which, had still not picked his head up.

After a few awkward beats, Arthur cleared his throat and tried again, "Mr. Jones," He repeated, but much, much louder this time. Antonio's Spanish class could probably hear him from across the hall.

Yet nothing happened once again. Alfred may have shifted a little bit, but it was honestly hard to tell.

Kiku Honda was seated in the same group as Alfred, and looked more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by and the students were still staring at Alfred, and their group by proxy. He looked at Arthur, and although the eye contact they made made him nearly physically cringe from how awkward it was, Kiku seemed to have gotten the message. He hastily leaned over and shook Alfred by the arm.

"Alfred," Kiku whispered, and the panic was visible on his face when Alfred didn't wake up with the first whisper. He shook him harder this time. "Alfred!"

That did the trick. Alfred jolted upright in his seat so fast he nearly fell out of his chair, which made Kiku subsequently almost have a hard attack from the way he gasped and gripped his chest afterwards.

Needless to say, Alfred had gotten a very stern warning that day. Though Arthur let him off the hook, since he could tell that he was genuinely apologetic about it and didn't mean for it to happen. He knew that the boy was embarrassed, judging by the way his entire face lit up bright red and he laughed awkwardly upon realizing that the entire class was staring at him.

It would have been fine as a one-time offense. However, it had somehow turned into a several-day occurrence instead. The third day of that same tense silence and Kiku shaking Alfred awake like his life depended on it was enough to light Arthur's eternally short fuse. So he handed the blonde a pink detention slip on his way out at the end of class, and watched despair etch itself onto Alfred's face as he walked sullenly away to lunch.

It wasn't like he felt bad, Arthur told himself as he glanced at Alfred sitting in the very front of the room, looking very much like he was struggling to keep it together. He could have tried a little harder to stay awake, couldn't he? Arthur had been in the boy's shoes before, studying mercilessly for his A-levels and surviving on caffeine pills for nearly a week straight. Though he could never recall a time he'd fallen asleep in class, even during his year 10 rebellious phase. It was kind of an odd thing to be bragging about, now that he thought harder about it, so Arthur cut off that train of thought as abruptly as possible.

Arthur looked back down and at his watch; 7 minutes to go. Time really flew, huh? He watched Lovino scribble something down in his notebook out of the corner of his eye.

After grading a couple more questions, Lovino let out an obnoxious yawn and ripped out the paper from his notebook. If he thought the yawn would cover the noise up he was sorely mistaken, but Arthur had let it slide.

Lovino let out a (fake) sneeze and knocked the peace of paper off of his desk. "Oi, pick that up for me," Lovino snapped at Alfred, who was a) sitting two seats in front of him and b) too preoccupied with chewing his fingernails to even notice Lovino had dropped something in the first place.

Alfred looked wildly around the room, twisting his neck almost painfully to notice Lovino glowering at him from behind. "Oh! Sorry," Alfred apologized, bending down to pick up the piece of paper. His hand hesitated when it reached down to pick it up, hovering over the words scrawled on the paper while his eyes blinked owlishly.

Arthur tried his very hardest not to notice the interaction, but it really was a difficult feat. Even Heracles had awoken from his impromptu nap to see what was going on, although he went back to sleep soon after.

Alfred flashed a brief, slightly nervous smile at Lovino and whispered a very loud "Thanks bro," before turning back around. He went back to alternating between chewing on his fingernails and tapping his hands on the desk while staring at the clock soon after. Lovino huffed, crossing his arms and going back to staring at Arthur as though he had never witnessed the exchange in the first place. Honestly, how daft did they think he was?

At 3:15, the alarm he had set on his phone went off. Arthur went to silence it and two out of three students immediately shot out of their desks and bolted to the door before Arthur even had a chance to open his mouth and wish them a good afternoon. The words dissolved on the tip of his tongue as soon as the door swung shut. Arthur frowned.

Alright, that stung a little bit. But he was used to it. You had to get used to it after spending six years teaching the same thing to the same type of people. Arthur had come to expect that with the job.

But… Arthur had hoped that, after six years, he would be able to get even one student to ask for a teacher recommendation letter from him. After six years, he had hoped that even one student would consider him a good teacher. After six years, he would get more than two reviews on ratemyteachers, both with two stars each with one calling him a scone eating asshole. It didn't help that Francis was constantly flaunting his perfect 5-star rating in his face, the git.

Was it pathetic to hope that? Perhaps it was.

He let out a long sigh, and glanced to the corner of the room where Heracles was still sleeping. Arthur stood up to go rouse him, walking past the spots Lovino and Alfred were previously occupying.

But that was before he noticed the piece of paper Lovino "accidentally" dropped, the one that Alfred neglected to pick up for some reason. Perhaps he just forgot. Arthur's eye twitched, the idea of garbage being left in his room making his blood nearly start boiling. He bent down and snatched up the piece of paper, grumbling to himself about the inconsiderate little twats and making his way to the garbage can.

Before throwing it away, Arthur turned the paper over in his hand. In Lovino's cramped handwriting scrawled on the thin lines of his notebook's loose leaf paper, it read;

_Stop fidgeting, bastard. We get it, you're worried. It's just one detention, and don't feel too bad, eyebrow-bastard gives out detentions to literally everyone. It's why no one likes him._

Arthur's free hand shot up to his eyebrows, and he self-consciously felt them for a moment before realizing how stupid he looked. He dropped both his hands to his sides, and felt that same sting in his chest as when the two bolted out of the classroom.

_It's why no one likes him._

He knew that already, of course he did. How couldn't he notice? It still hurt to have it highlighted and so clearly on display, though.

After standing in front of the garbage can for another few seconds, staring down at the empty water bottles and papers inside of it, Arthur finally crumpled up the note and threw it away.

* * *

The next day, and the day after that. Heracles was still falling in sleep in class, but Lovino decided not to cut for the third and fourth time. Alfred, thankfully, had learned from his past experiences and stayed awake all throughout the final days of the week. Arthur was glad, maybe the detentions were working (well, for everyone but Heracles, he supposed).

However, there was something else that Arthur noticed about Alfred that was strange during the next day, and the day after that. And, he never thought he would have to say it, but he wished that the sleeping in class could be the only anomaly that he'd noticed.

No, this time, Arthur noticed bruises. Plural. Multiple. There was a day he came in with a whole black eye, and every time he wrote something on the worksheet of the day his sleeve would ride up and Arthur would notice more and more of the bruises. His knuckles were splotchy with purples and reds.

It wasn't just bruises either. Scrapes, cuts, and just general injuries that most likely would not have happened to a typical teenage boy on a Thursday night. Arthur went through every procedure in the handbook for instances like this, rifling through the lines of protocol and stories of other teachers recounting one of their past students coming into class with bruises on their necks, breaking down and crying when asked what was wrong…

His stomach went cold from where he was sitting at his desk, and suddenly his tea seemed rather unappetizing. He paused at where he was inserting grades into the rickety computer the school had provided for him, eyes lingering on a student's 70% on the latest quiz.

Should he report this? Arthur risked a glance over at Alfred's table again. One of the boys had apparently cracked a joke, and the table burst out in raucous laughter. That included Alfred, who was laughing so hard he was clutching his stomach with one arm while the other hand lingered over their forgotten worksheet.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, staring back at the computer screen. What should he do about this? Wait and see if it would happen again? Arthur wondered if he was overthinking the whole ordeal, but decided that it was better to worry than to ignore the issue. Maybe he should go discuss this with Francis, he would probably know what to do.

Speaking of Francis. His phone dinged with a text message from the art teacher, completely derailing his train of thought.

Arthur frowned, picking up his phone from where it was lying facedown on his desk. It was odd that Francis was texting him, especially considering he was supposed to be teaching a class right about now. Though Arthur expected no less from such a lax and lazy teacher such as Francis.

_Good afternoon, Arthur. I hope that your class is not being too rambunctious ;) _Was what the text read. Arthur's frown deepened, if that was even possible.

_Afternoon, twat. I'm quite busy at the moment, so I would sincerely hope this matter is of the utmost level of urgency._ Arthur texted back, being sure to hide his phone under the desk in case a student caught him.

_Oh, Arthur, are you texting during class? How rebellious! ;)_

_Is it really necessary to add the emoticon after every message? What do you want?_

_Do you recall the bar that I saw you at a week ago downtown? I'm sure you remember ;)_

Arthur felt his face heat up involuntarily. Yes, he remembered. He was trying to forget that his favorite soccer team had lost that day, as well as the $100 he had bet on them. He was on the verge of intoxication when Francis found him, and he would rather not recall the extremely embarrassing memory that was the car ride home.

Stop insinuating that anything else happened that night, you moron. And I don't see what that has to do with anything.

_Antonio asked me to ask you to invite you on one of our outings this weekend, as he was too afraid of you to ask himself._

Arthur felt his brain freeze, his whole body tensing up as he stared at the tiny screen with rapt attention. His heart rate was picking up, and it was probably ridiculous he was acting like a high school girl getting asked out by her crush for the first time. It was really nothing special, except for the fact that he has never been out with his coworkers before and he'd been waiting for someone to ask him for like six years now. It was completely irrational of him, to feel so hopelessly excited at the prospect of going to that bar with someone other than himself for company.

The giddy feeling soon evaporated, and he was left with his thoughts exploding and twisting all inside of his brain as they usually did. Antonio asked, but was too afraid to ask Arthur himself. Was he really that off-putting? Was this some act of sympathy? Of course, why would someone like Antonio want to invite someone like him out on a weekend anyways? Nobody wanted to invite Arthur. Nobody liked Arthur, so he didn't know why…

What if this was a trap, and Arthur was being played for a fool here? And what if there was no bar meeting, there was no Antonio asking Francis to ask him, and Francis was just using this opportunity to get a rise out of him. Arthur envisioned himself arriving to the bar, completely empty and deserted with Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert (the football coach who hung out with the other two quite regularly) laughing at him through the windows. He could feel his face heat up, his palms getting sweatier, his eyebrows scrunching together.

_I don't have time to go out on these silly excursions, as I am a busy man. I'm sure you would not be able to begin to imagine the copious amount of work I have to do. Thank you for the invitation, but I respectfully decline._

After sending the text, Arthur slammed his phone onto his desk and tried to will his heart to calm down. He wondered why he suddenly felt so angry, bitter, and ashamed all at the same time. Arthur hung his head down and tried not to fall apart right then and there, but it was hard when he realized that the entire class had been staring at him for the past few seconds. Shit, had he slammed his phone down that hard?

"You know, staring is quite rude," Arthur snapped. "Get back to your work before I decide to assign you all another pop quiz for your behavior."

Instantly every head in the room swiveled back around, and murmurs resounded throughout the room. Arthur usually was able to block it all out, but for some reason he was feeling especially high strung today, the acrid taste in his mouth never leaving.

His phone dinged with a text message. Arthur decided to get back to work.

* * *

Alfred was fast asleep in class, but luckily Arthur had not noticed any changes (that meant no bruises, at least none that he was already aware of). But bruises or not, Alfred was still sleeping in class, which was utterly unacceptable after an entire two days off.

He paused in his discussion of the significance of the Battle of Cowshed in Animal Farm, which was something that the students should have well been aware of as well as something he really shouldn't have been explaining by the way, and looked over at Alfred's group again. Kiku had already been trying to wake Alfred up, his efforts joined by a student across the table who was poking Alfred in the forehead with a pencil.

After Arthur walked over and woke Alfred up himself via an aggressive "Mr. Jones" in his ear, he slid the blonde another detention slip. Alfred's expression immediately darkened, but Arthur turned away before he could see the frown on the usually sunny student. Arthur paid it no mind; He never did.

Heracles was out sick that day, so it was only Alfred in detention after school. The alarm rang at 3:15, as always perfectly on time. Arthur determined that it was as good a time as any to inquire about the recent string of drowsiness in his class.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jones," Arthur began as soon as Alfred shot up from his desk. "May I have a word with you before you leave?"

"Oh, uh, sure Mr. Kirkland," Alfred said, discomfort evident in his voice. You're acting as though I'm going to fail you right here and now, Arthur thought bitterly.

"I've been a little… Concerned about your behavior as of late," Arthur said, lacing his fingers together in a look of professionalism that he picked up from Mr. Vargas, the AP World History teacher. "You've always been such a… Ahem, hardworking student. I don't understand where this is coming from."

Alfred seemed to think over his next words very, very carefully. Arthur could practically see the gears turning behind his bespectacled eyes. He said nothing for a few seconds before explaining, "Well, uh, Mr. Kirkland. You see, like, I've been trying to sleep and stuff, but like, it's been hard recently. I don't really know how to explain it," He rubbed a hand behind his neck sheepishly.

"You've just been having sleeping issues," Arthur said slowly, gaze drifting to the slowly healing bruise over his eye.

"Yeah, my mom thinks it might be my mattress or something," Alfred went on.

Have you been getting into a wrestling match with your mattress in the middle of the night? Arthur thought incredulously. How do you expect me to buy that?!

He hardened his expression. "That's all that has been bothering you?"

"Umm," Alfred thought long and hard, eyes drifting off to the side of Arthur's head. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You're sure," Arthur knew the desperation in his tone was evident. But he really had to know, the feeling of deep concern and guilt in his gut just wouldn't go away if he didn't figure this out. "You're completely sure."

"Yep," Alfred gave Arthur an apologetic smile, but the feeling just wouldn't go away. "Sorry Mr. Kirkland, I should probably get going now. My brother's waiting for me outside."

Arthur tensed, trying not to let the dismay building in his chest give way and show on his face. "Of course. I'm sorry for keeping you, have a good day."

"You too," Alfred said as he started towards the door. As soon as he left, Arthur let out a small sigh and untangled his fingers. How cowardly of him, being unable to ask his student a question so simple. Are you okay?

A familiar feeling of frustration and resentment made Arthur dig the palms of his hands into his eyelids. It felt like he had been screwing up more than usual today, his guard for some reason kept higher than usual.

After he rejected Francis' invitation, Arthur had considered the possibility that he wasn't being played for a fool. Perhaps Antonio really did want to invite him, perhaps Arthur was just unnecessarily pushing everyone he wanted to be close to away from him. It was just like this in his childhood as well, never having anyone close to him other than his brothers. And even that was debatable, since the four of them had always been at each other's throats since even before Arthur was born.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, staring at the opposite end of the classroom. His English classroom was one he had for three years now, since he switched classrooms with Antonio because of some issue with the lack of windows in this room. Arthur hadn't minded at the time, but now he could see how much of an impact it had on his mood every day. It was utterly dreadful, never having any fresh air and constantly having to crack the door open in order to have something circulate through the room.

It didn't help that the walls were almost completely barren. Decorating the walls was a project Arthur had wanted to start for the past three years, but for some reason he had never gotten around to it. All that was left of Antonio's classroom were the random staples in the walls and spots where the paint peeled due to posters having been left up too long. A single red poster was left on the back wall that read _Keep Calm and Teach On_, something Antonio had left as sort of a gift for Arthur ("Because you're British!" The Spanish teacher had said with a beaming smile.) He kind of hated it, but Arthur didn't have the heart to tear it down.

His gaze shifted to the desks, lined up in messy rows due to his students neglecting to put them back nicely after group work. He looked at the door, slightly cracked open when Alfred forgot to close the door all the way on his way out. There were worksheet papers strewn across the floor, the garbage can overflowed with student's garbage, some having never made it into the can…

And then, realization hit him like a truck. So much so that Arthur's hands found their way to the edge of the desk, gripping it so hard that it was sure to leave indentations into his palms later.

He realized every aversion of his eyes in the staff room was not out of malice. When students shuffled away from him when he walked in the hallways, it was not out of hatred for him. His brothers, who he hadn't spoken to in the past six years, most likely didn't hate him either no matter how many arguments and spats they've had, no matter how many times Arthur had ignored their calls or text messages, asking him how he was doing, when he would come home, why he had left in the first place.

It was out of uncertainty. Fear. Fear that Arthur would explode like a soda can having been shaken too hard. Uncertain if Arthur's insecurities would come bubbling to the surface like an angry pot of boiling water that had been left on the stove too long. It wasn't as though they wanted to avoid him, it was that Arthur was the one who was pushing everyone away.

The realization was dizzying, it struck him so hard that he let out a little "Oh," before something lifted off of his chest.

Arthur wasn't hated, he wasn't disliked, and the people around him didn't deserve to be resented. In fact, it was him that deserved to be disliked, because he had been acting like an utter asshole for the past six years.

He'd always wondered why he never went out on Friday nights, why he hated people and the world and why he was so cynical about every little thing that happened to him.

For the past six years, Arthur had been carefully curating a wall around him. A fort to keep everyone away, so that nobody would have the chance to peek in and see the insecurities that were building inside him like bacteria. For the past six years, Arthur had kept everyone away, so that it would sting a little less whenever his pride was shot at or when his questions were rejected.

For the past six years, Arthur Kirkland never had anyone he could call a friend.

* * *

Arthur's epiphany in his classroom earlier haunted him for the rest of the day. So much so that it completely slipped his mind that his refrigerator was nearly completely empty, and that he planned to take a trip to the convenience store after work. But after getting in the car and driving for what seemed to be eternity, Arthur tried and failed to vanquish the thought from his mind by blasting the radio as loud as he possibly could. By the time he reached his apartment, Arthur was so unreasonably irritated by the pop songs on the radio that the only thing on his mind was how much music had gone down hill, how much better it was when he was a teenager…

So he took a shower and worked on grading the homework for that week. He found that it was getting too difficult to focus and tried making himself a cup of tea, but couldn't upon realizing he had run out of packets that morning. Arthur felt his mood plunge even further; Tea always made things better, as stereotypical as it was.

And so he made the decision to drop what he was doing and go to the grocery store. Arthur could concede that his addiction to tea might be become somewhat detrimental one day, but he'd like to see that day happen first before ever giving up his beloved drink.

As soon as he left the house, a nice chill greeted him. He was lucky he'd brought a scarf with him, one that his mother gave to him as a graduation gift. The thought of his mother tugged at his heart a little, and by extension he thought of his older brothers as well. Perhaps it was about time to rekindle his relationship with them once more, but he wondered if that would ever be possible after leaving the country without so much as a simple goodbye.

By the time he was halfway down the route to the grocery store, the sun was already setting. He pulled out his phone to check the time (it was nearing 6:00), and his stomach turned when he saw the text from Francis he had neglected to check earlier in the day. He was purposefully avoiding using his phone for this sole reason, but he supposed it was as good a time as any to reply to the Frenchmen.

But for some reason, he stopped himself from reading the text. His hands grew clammy, and his tongue went dry. It was ridiculous to be so afraid of a simple text, but Arthur couldn't help it. Maybe he should put this text off until after he'd gotten the groceries. It was dangerous to be walking while using your phone, after all. He turned his phone off and pocketed it.

His time in the grocery store was brief, but he did run into a student there. Though that wasn't exactly a surprise since he only lived about ten minutes away from the school by car ride, but it was still as much as an awkward exchange as it usually was.

So there was Alfred F. Jones, giving a nearly sympathetic smile to an Arthur carrying about seven boxes of tea, trying to wrangle all of them into his cart. Arthur gave the boy a strained smile back, and they both went their separate ways while Arthur tried not to curl up in horror at the fact that Alfred had just witnessed the true extent of his addiction to tea.

After purchasing a few other things that were a little less important than the tea, Arthur left the store as quickly as he'd came.

Though the whole time, Arthur contemplated the new bruise Alfred was sporting. This time on his cheek. He also contemplated the fact that the student was holding a small white bottle of medicine, as well as an ice pack and gauze in his hands.

It reminded him that there was someone he was supposed to be looking out for, the thought making Arthur's grip on his bag of groceries tighten. He couldn't sink too deep into self loathing, because that ultimately would not help him help Alfred through whatever the boy was going through. His fear of approaching the student was holding him back, and it was only a matter of time before Alfred came into class with more serious injuries than a couple of bruises.

It was dark outside already, a startling fact when Arthur thought he couldn't have been in the grocery store for more than 15 minutes. He decided to quicken the leisurely pace he was walking at to more of a power walk. Perhaps he should have opted to take his car, but it was only a ten minute walk and he didn't want to waste the gas.

Arthur felt his nose going numb from the cold; Why is it already this cold in November, Arthur pondered. Perhaps it was something about global warming, but Arthur could never be bothered to keep up with things like that. It was way too depressing, and he'd only feel like he was becoming more and more like a cynical old man if he thought about it for too long.

He decided to check the time again, but then remembered about Francis' text that he still hadn't answered. His impromptu interaction with Alfred had left him so caught up in his own thoughts it slipped his mind. Arthur let out a deep breath through his mouth, and watched it swirl through the night as a fine mist before disappearing into the streetlights above.

His heart hammered as he reached down to take out his phone, but he didn't have the chance to as his scarf was grabbed by an unknown hand in an unknown alleyway. Arthur let out a sharp gasp as the wind was quite literally knocked out of him, and he was dragged unceremoniously into the alleyway not unlike a ragdoll.

"Wh-" Arthur began, but he was shoved roughly against the brick wall of a 99 cent store, grocery bags flying out of his hands and spilling across the grimy floor of the alley. His assailant reached deep into their coat pocket and drew out what Arthur could make out to be a knife in the glow of the streetlights.

Oh fucking hell, Arthur thought, feeling a bead of sweat run down the side of his face despite the chill of the night.

"Don't speak," His assailant said, voice gruff and hoarse like they had spent the last night screaming their lungs out at a concert. Or perhaps they were screaming at some other unfortunate victim caught up in a situation similar to Arthur's. They tried pressing the knife against his throat, but his scarf was covering it. With a huff of annoyance, they pressed the knife against his cheek instead.

Arthur nodded readily, and even though he was staying silent on the outside, he felt like he was going to explode on the inside. Everything he's ever wanted to say to every single person in his life was flashing through his mind at once, and he felt his throat constrict painfully like when one of his brothers kicked a football at his head when he was nine.

"Wallet," The assailant demanded, and Arthur thought sarcastically of what a way with words they had. One of his hands were pinned against the wall, so hard that Arthur knew he would be finding blue splotches on his wrist tomorrow.

"There's nothing in it," Arthur wheezed out, "I spent it all on tea…"

"Shut up!" They barked, and the knife dug deep into Arthur's cheek, leaving a searing pain that made Arthur grit his teeth as his assailant tightened their grip on his wrist.

"Left coat pocket," Arthur relented, feeling dizzy from how fast his heart was pumping. He dimly saw his phone on the floor of the alley along with a carton of eggs that had spilled out. He'd never gotten a chance to see Francis' text message, and maybe he never would. He never got to respond to his brother's messages either, the ones he'd left unopened for years now.

The assailant rifled through his pocket with the knife clutched dangerously between one of his fingers and his pinkie. He drew it out quickly and made quick work of maneuvering through the many pockets of his wallet.

Arthur didn't want to die, and the thought made his resolve harden. He wouldn't die now, not when he had so many things left to do, so many mistakes to remedy before his time was up.

And so, he used the hand that wasn't pinned to the wall to deliver the hardest punch he could to the assailant, all while letting out the most blood curdling scream his lungs would allow him to muster. Obviously expecting this, the person dodged easily, dropping Arthur's wallet to the floor and swiveling his knife back into prime position before moving to jab it into Arthur's stomach.

In that moment, the moment before the sharp tip of the knife punctured through his stomach and Arthur's entire mundane life flashed devastatingly before his eyes, the assailant's movements paused, their entire body somehow flying to the side of the alleyway with a resounding crack and into the dumpster at the end of it. Somehow, their body had made a harsh dent in the metal, garbage bags bursting out of the top like when you squeeze an orange too hard and juice comes spilling out every orifice of it.

Like his legs were jelly, Arthur sank to the floor while his hands flew to his stomach. It was fine, nothing but his coat was punctured. A long line formed where the assailant had their knife in to strike, but was quickly caught off track when they somehow flew into the wall.

If it had happened even a second later, Arthur would have most likely been dead.

His heart felt like it could burst in relief.

"Holy crap, Mr. Kirkland, are you okay?"

Arthur blinked, feeling so dazed and out of it that he hadn't noticed the third person that entered the scene. He looked up, squinting as his eyes focused on a young bespectacled face looking down at him in concern. Arthur blinked again.

"A...Alfred…?" Arthur said in bewilderment. He looked at Alfred, then to the mugger who was currently K.O'ed and lying uncomfortably on top of a bunch of garbage bags. Wait, was that crack a punch? Did Alfred punch that person so hard they literally flew into the dumpster? Wait, wait, wait…

"Ah, yeah, I heard someone screaming, so I… Y'know," Alfred motioned something vaguely with his hands. "Anyways, are you okay? That cut looks hella nasty."

Arthur moved his hand to touch the cut on his face, and drew it away to find that the tips of his fingers were now slick with blood. "Ah… Yes, I'm alright… It's just a cut, after all. It's fine, I'm fine. Mr- Alfred, did you just-"

"Uh," Alfred cut him off immediately, straightening his back like he was preparing for an oral presentation in front of the class. "Look, I know this looks bad, but like, it's totally normal and stuff. I've been working out! Going to the gym, I saw this ad on TV for a protein powder that probably just made my muscles like way stronger," He was rambling, Arthur noticed. It was something students did when they were trying to come up with an elaborate story for why they just had to cut his class. And Arthur never bought it.

"Alfred," Arthur interjected his blathering with a stern voice. "I can tell that you're bluffing. Don't think that any lie you tell can get by me, young man."

Alfred visibly deflated, looking more and more like a kicked puppy by the second. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Alfred mumbled, and the sheer loneliness in his voice was so palpable that Arthur felt his heart clench with guilt. It was the sound of a boy who had been keeping everything he had been feeling bottled up inside, all of his problems locked away until someone had enough decency to notice anything amiss under that sunny exterior.

It made Arthur feel like such a terrible person. Even if he had noticed the cloudy storms hidden behind Alfred's cheerful smiles, the bruises under his sleeves or scrapes lining his knuckles, he never found the courage to ask him how he'd gotten them.

He forced his hard expression to soften, and finally decided his legs have had enough of a break. By gripping the wall behind him, Arthur managed to get himself into a standing position once more, even if he felt like even the slightest wind would have knocked him over at that point.

"Listen, I know I haven't been the most… Approachable person," And that was putting it lightly, Arthur thought bitterly. "But whatever you say, whatever issue you're facing, I will listen with undeterred attention."

Alfred blinked at him in obvious confusion. "I will hear you out," Arthur simplified.

"Oh, okay," Alfred said, and looked down at his shoes. "Just… Uh, don't tell anyone else that I told you this, please."

Arthur inhaled deeply. He couldn't do that. If his suspicions were confirmed right here and now, Arthur would have to report it immediately. And he couldn't just leave Alfred suffering like that, he would never forgive himself for it. So Arthur nodded, deciding that intervention was for the greater good.

Alfred breathed in, just like Arthur had just done, and said with grave seriousness, "I've developed supernatural strength."

Ah… That… Wasn't at all what he was expecting.

"Er… I'm sorry?" Arthur said dumbly, and Alfred puffed out his cheeks childishly.

"See, I told you!" Alfred exclaimed with a spark of anger in his voice and defiance visible in his eyes. "You don't believe me."

Arthur looked at the assailant, who was still unconscious near the back of the alley. There was an indent in the dumpster around them, and the lid had completely popped off the top. Now that he thought more carefully about it, that couldn't have been the work of your average punch. He was sure that even MMA fighters didn't have the ability to send their opponents flying to the opposite end of the ring, snapping the cords keeping the men inside, and subsequently flying into the cheering crowd.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Alfred's bruises were most likely from fights rather than something else. He was most likely patrolling the city at night like some kind of comic book superhero than something else that would have kept him up at night. Pieces of a puzzle gradually were clicking into place, and a full picture settled into Arthur's mind.

"Oh." Was all Arthur could say. "No… That actually makes sense."

All traces of hostility washed away from Alfred's face, replaced with incredulity. "R-Really?" He said with a trace of disbelief lacing his tone instead.

"Yes… I see now," Arthur settled his gaze on Alfred's once more. "Why didn't you let me know this before?"

"I… You wouldn't have believed me," Alfred explained. Arthur leaned against the wall, not caring that it would definitely dirty his coat. He'd probably have to get it tailored to cover up the hole anyways.

"Yes, I most likely wouldn't have," Arthur conceded self-deprecatingly. "I apologize, Alfred."

"Oh, you don't have to apologize man-uh, sir, Mr. Kirkland," Alfred smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of a hard thing to believe, I know."

"No, it's not just that," Arthur pressed. It was the fact that he wouldn't have given any excuse Alfred gave the time of day, only jumping to the most extreme conclusion as the only possible answer. And well, maybe this conclusion was rather extreme as well, but Arthur just loathed the fact that he would have been so passive to the fact that maybe Alfred just did have some trouble sleeping, maybe he played a sport that made him extremely susceptible to injury.

"Well… Uh, whatever else it is, it's fine, I guess," Alfred said. "Please please please don't tell anyone, Mr. Kirkland, shit, if my brother found out about this…" Panic laced his voice, and he clasped his hands together on front of him.

"Language," Arthur reminded. "And I won't, Alfred. It's the least I can do to repay you for saving my life. I am in your debt."

"Woah, that's like, really not necessary Mr. Kirkland," Alfred let out a laugh, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes. He then sneezed and zipped up his coat.

Arthur frowned. It didn't feel right to end this on such a note. He needed to do something, something to repay him. Alfred had basically given him a second chance, and it wasn't something Arthur was going to take lightly.

"I'll… Give you a homework pass," Arthur decided finally.

Alfred's eyes widened almost comically, and a smile nearly split his face in half. "Really?!" Alfred exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. "Hell yeah!"

"But Alfred," Arthur continued. "You really should not be wandering the streets at night like this, especially when it has been impacting your academic life," He put on his stern teacher voice. "Not to mention it is extremely dangerous for a boy your age, supernatural strength or not."

"Huh, w-wait, how did you know about that?" Alfred said, slowly lowering his fist.

_I've seen you reading comic books under your desk_, Arthur thought. "Your injuries gave it away," Arthur said.

"Damn it," Alfred muttered under his breath. Arthur decided to ignore the swear word this time. "Look, Mr. Kirkland, I know that you're worried about me and stuff-"

"I'm not worried," Arthur interjected with a scowl.

"But like, it's totally fine. I have these powers now, so it basically makes it my responsibility to save people, right?" Alfred looked up at Arthur and cocked his head to the side. "I get the concern. Like, my brother practically has an aneurysm every time I leave the house at night now. But honestly? I couldn't really care less about what happens to me. Everyone wants superpowers, and I've wanted superpowers my entire life. I've never known what I wanted to do with my superpowers once I get them, and I don't think many people really know. Hell- I mean heck, I can't even control these properly yet. But if I had to make a choice between trying my best to save people or doing nothing out of fear, then I'd rather save people. Even if that means I'll get hurt in the process, you know? In the grand scheme of things, what I do is super insignificant, but if it manages to change one person's life, well… I think it's worth it."

He then gave Arthur a beaming smile. "I used them to save you, so I must be doing something right."

Arthur deliberated this for a very long moment. It certainly didn't leave a very good feeling in his stomach, the thought of a sixteen year old boy running through the streets at night where there would be a lot more dangerous people with a lot more murderous intent than a petty mugger.

But then again, it wasn't really his place. And Arthur supposed there was really nothing he could do to change Alfred's mind anyways. He did save his life.

So Arthur let out a beleaguered sigh. It seemed as though his worry for Alfred would not be subsiding anytime soon. "Alright, I suppose."

There was a ding from someone's phone, and Alfred scrambled to check his. He looked up and shook his head, the two of them turning around to see Arthur's phone glowing on the ground. Shit, he'd forgotten about that, as well as the assailant who was still near the end of the alleyway.

"Alfred, help me gather the tea, we need to leave," Arthur commanded, running over and scooping up his phone. It was cracked, but that was to be expected. He'd received a new Candy Crush notification.

"Okay," Alfred managed to carry five of the tea boxes by stacking them on top of each other. He also scooped up the items he had purchased at the grocery store earlier into a stray plastic bag, a bottle of aspirin upon closer inspection, the ice pack, and the gauze. Arthur gathered the remaining two and pocketed his phone. "Mr. Kirkland, what about your other stuff?"

"Leave it," Arthur said, and steered Alfred out of the alleyway. "These are more important."

* * *

Arthur stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, the paint peeling in one corner but otherwise looking as mundane as the rest of his house. He wondered if it was time to get around to decorating the walls soon, similar to his classroom back at work.

After calling the police and forcing Alfred to call his brother to drive him home (The boy insisted he was fine walking home himself, but Arthur wouldn't have it. He could do that any other night, but Arthur felt a strange sense of responsibility over the boy possess him in that moment. He wanted to make sure Alfred made it home safely), Arthur found that the rest of his night passed in a blur. All he could recall prior to flopping down over his bed was a second shower and the sweet smell of tea wafting through the apartment.

His hand reached up to feel at the gauze over his cheek, still not having quite gotten used to the sensation yet. His mouth quirked upward at the thought of how his students would react upon him entering the class tomorrow, though the smile disappeared when he thought about how Francis or Antonio would react. Probably in the same over-dramatic, worried manner the two seemed to share.

He wondered if Yao, the Trigonometry/AP Calculus teacher who he exchanged pleasant greetings with once in a while would try and offer him an herbal medicine to prevent scarring on his cheek.

Or if Gilbert, the football coach of their school's team who was so unlike his other two friends that it was almost ironic that the three became so close in the first place. He wondered if he would slap Arthur on the back, congratulating him for finally sticking up for himself in a fight.

Maybe Erzsébet, the yoga instructor, would have a similar reaction to Gilbert. Or maybe Roderich, Erzsébet's husband and the band conductor, would also be concerned just like Francis and Antonio but would try his very hardest to show it a little less.

Mr. Vargas, the man who hired him in the first place, would most likely laugh and warn Arthur not to get into too much trouble. The both of them weren't young anymore, after all. (Even if Mr. Vargas was about ten years older than Arthur…)

It was then that Arthur realized that maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought he was. Even if nobody cared about his stupid cut the next day, he still wanted to try his hardest to interact with everyone like a good coworker. If he could make it through suffocatingly polite small talk and explanations of why he had suddenly decided to become so much more open recently, then Arthur thought he might have been able to treat his students more nicely as well.

Though not too nicely. He still wanted to keep up a strict classroom after all, but maybe he'd loosen up a little on the detentions and punishments. Maybe he'd take a visit to the local Target tomorrow and try to find some posters to hang up.

And well… Maybe he could ring one of his brothers as well. Even if he really wasn't looking forward to an awkward explanation of where he'd run off to for six years, Arthur thought it was about time.

Though he would leave that for another time, he reconciled with a memory of Alistair pulling his pants down when he was twelve flashing through his mind. One step at a time.

Arthur grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and unlocked it. 9:15 PM, and Arthur was already tired beyond imagine. Francis' text message was still left unopened, so Arthur decided it was finally time to respond.

_Let me know if you change your mind, I will be waiting ;)_

Arthur sighed for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, narrowing his eyes at the phone screen. Even if he felt compelled to text back No, fuck off you stupid frog, he knew that wouldn't have been true to what he was feeling. He did want to go. He wanted to go so, so badly. Wanted to hang out with his coworkers and remember what it felt like to visit the mall with his friends, to run around in the park with his brothers laughing. Arthur held his breath as he pressed the call button next to Francis' icon.

His heart was hammering so hard in his chest as he pressed the phone against his ear, the dull beeping of the dial not at all corresponding with his own heartbeat. Arthur wrapped himself in his duvet, trying not to freak out too badly when Francis finally picked up the phone after what seemed like an eternity of holding his breath.

"_Allô_?" Francis responded.

"Good evening," Arthur said, unable to keep the curtness out of his tone. It just somehow came out whenever he spoke to Francis, ever since the Frenchman spilled a can of white paint on him all those years ago while helping with the school play's backdrop. Instead of helping Arthur, he had merely laughed at him and handed him his coat. It reminded him of high school all over again.

"Arthur, to what may I owe the pleasure?" Francis said, and Arthur could practically hear the smirk in the other's voice. "Have you come back around so soon?"

Arthur nodded, and then realized that Francis couldn't see him. "W-Well, I've been deliberating it. Nearly all day," Ever since the knife nearly plunged into his stomach, his life flashing before his eyes… "And I've decided… Um, if you wouldn't mind, I would… Like to accept. Your invitation, that is."

"Hmm, I don't know, Arthur," Francis teased. "You were awfully rude to me in that text message earlier."

Arthur felt his entire face flare up, and he rolled over on the covers trying to suppress a groan. "I-I've changed my mind! Please, I-"

"Arthur, of course you can come," Francis interjected, with a tone of amusement and endearment lacing his words. "We would love to have you, I'm sure Antonio will be thrilled. Oh! Erzsébet and Gilbert may be coming as well. Roderich will be there too. The two of us will be designated drivers for the night."

Arthur frowned. "You're going to be a designated driver? I would have thought you'd never pass up the opportunity to have a glass of wine, Bonnefoy."

"Well, someone has to drive you home after you get yourself wasted after two drinks of beer, _cher_."

"Shut up, you arse," And Arthur promptly hung up the phone after Francis began cackling with laughter.

Arthur leaned back on his bed after freeing himself from the covers, and grinned like a high school teenager up at the ceiling. A giddy feeling exploded in his stomach into what felt like dozens of butterflies, fluttering and spiraling and trying to escape out of his esophagus. Indeed, he let out a legitimate squeal, before shoving a pillow against his face and reddening in embarrassment.

Maybe he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.

* * *

"Now," Arthur said, looking up from his copy of _Animal Farm_. He had decided to read it out loud to the class instead, so that he would make sure everyone would be caught up as well as avoid any unnecessary quizzes in the future. "Can someone take a guess as to what the Windmill is meant to represent?"

Absolute silence. Crickets. Nobody's hand shot in the air, and every student suddenly seemed much more interested in their desks or the new posters on the walls than his lesson. Of course, Arthur would usually be able to count on Alfred to answer and break the awkward silence that would follow, but…

Arthur's gaze shifted towards Alfred's usual seat near the door. Kiku seemed to already be working on waking Alfred up with little success, gently shaking the blonde as much as he could without seeming impolite. Red rimmed glasses were pushed up awkwardly into Alfred's forehead, and his mouth was parted open as he snored softly, though not enough to disrupt the class.

Arthur really really wanted to intervene once more, annoyance burning in the pit of his stomach. He knew that Alfred had willfully ignored his advice to go to bed at a reasonable hour and to stop patrolling the streets at night like a pseudo-comic-book-superhero, thus was the reason why the boy was so tired now.

The frown on his face dissipated as soon as it had formed when he realized that he didn't really have the right to be angry. He thought back to his near death experience with the mugger, thought back to how Alfred had swept in just in time and saved his life in the process. How Alfred's eyes lit up when he talked about his want to save people who couldn't save themselves, how he so desperately wanted to use his powers for good despite knowing the dire consequences it would cause. Arthur wondered who had raised Alfred, because they truly had done such an excellent job. He felt terrible for doubting his upbringing in the first place.

And Arthur realized that he couldn't be mad. Not when he had seen Alfred in such a different light.

"It's alright, Mr. Honda," Arthur said, raising a hand. Kiku looked at Arthur in mild confusion, before slowly lowering his hands and picking up his copy of _Animal Farm_ once more.

Arthur supposed he could allow it for one day, but this was the only time. Next time, Alfred wouldn't get off so lightly. But maybe just a warning and stern lecture would suffice.

"Now, the windmill…"

* * *

((hello! this is the author, i dont know how to do an author's note on ha-  
i originally posted this on ao3 under the same name, but it has a different summary since there's no word count there lol. i kinda want to write more for this au, but it would be from another character's perspective. so no more arthur unfortunately, even if he was a lot of fun to write loll  
thank you for reading!))


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